Do not be alarmed. This isn’t a play-by-play account of a colonoscopy. One’s back end and its true function isn’t something anyone really wants to talk about, let alone read about. However, I feel compelled to put pen to paper (or fingers to computer keys) and write through this less than pleasant experience.
First off, the fact that I’m only 42 puts me in an atypical colonoscopy patient group. Normally, one doesn’t have this screening until they are 50+ years old. Nonetheless, a family history makes me eligible for this procedure. I use the term “procedure” lightly because on paper it may seem like a simple procedure when a doctor can do two an hour, however it is a major production for the patient.
Many will tell you that the procedure is easy compared to the preparation and I’m inclined to believe that since the “pre-homework” is ghastly. Once I started the prep work, I was useless for about 48 hours. Not an easy task for a mother of two young children.
My father was diagnosed with colon cancer when he was 50 years old and while it is a very curable cancer if caught early enough, his was not. Ultimately, it spread to his lymphatic system and eventually he died from liver cancer; a mere 9 months later. That was about 15 years ago and there was no reason for him to have an early screening since up until then there was no history of any kind of cancer in the family. Nonetheless, the doctors told each of his children to get screened for this cancer at age 40 – ten years before the age of the diagnosis of a parent.
When I made the appointment, I was handed a packet full of information, specifically, instructions of the prep work I had to do the day before the procedure. This involved laxatives – lots of them and included fasting the day before and drinking a gallon of clear liquids. Certainly, not my idea of a good time.
The hardest part was NOT eating. As a stay-at-home mom it was particularly difficult to make food for the kids all day! I was dizzy and weak by 10am. I could drink juice but I’m not a juice drinker – in fact, I hate juice. But I sucked down apple and white grape fruit juice as if it was life-sustaining. I needed the sugar to keep me going. Around noon I had to load up the kids and drive my daughter to preschool. I should not have been driving because I was shaking by this point. I called the mother of one of her classmates to walk her into school because I simply didn’t have the strength to get out of the car, get both kids out, carry the baby, and get her to her into the classroom on time.
When I got home, I put the baby to bed and began to drink the first of the required two 10 ounce bottles of Citrate of Magnesium. A delicious blend of laxatives and lemon and perhaps battery acid. It was clear and a little bubbly and totally misleading. I expected it to taste like 7UP but it was bitter and shocking and I can’t find the right words to describe this most hideous “flavor”. I wondered if it was even edible. I put it on ice as an attempt to deceive myself as I choked it down. I sat on the couch watching mindless daytime TV and gulped it – 5 gulps at a time. I should point out that some may have guzzled it because the taste is so heinous, but I’ve never been a guzzler. Not even in my most heavy beer drinking college days – I could never guzzle anything!
Fortunately my husband was able to leave work early to pick our daughter up from school. He also had to buy more Gatorade. The directions say that during the laxative phase one has to keep hydrated. I bought orange Gatorade, but the instruction sheet said to avoid red and purple drinks. So to be safe, I had him buy the yellow flavor, which, by the way, I hate because it reminds me of all the times I’ve been vomiting sick and had to drink it for the “electrolytes” .
By 3pm, I was nauseous and tired and the baby was still sleeping, so I climbed into bed. The phone rang a few minutes later but I didn’t recognize the number so I let it go to voicemail. Watching the blinking red light beckon me to check the message, I realized I hadn’t seen the dog in a while. He’s usually my shadow and jumps at the opportunity to nap with me. I knew the call had to be someone who found him because he’s prone to getting off his chain – especially in the last couple days. I listened to the young female voice saying she found him wandering by the school. I had no recollection of when I put him outside - starvation does that to one’s memory. When I called back and explained where I lived, she offered to bring him home because I was babbling about how was I going to get him. (I was queasy, had a sleeping baby, I shouldn’t be driving, and I am liable to mess my pants any minute – that part I didn’t say out loud…at least I don’t think I did.) She didn’t know where I lived and said she’d call her mom for directions. I called my husband but he was on his way but it would be another 40 minutes before he’d be home. I called my mother-in-law but she couldn’t help. I finally realized this stupid dog was my responsibility and in my delirium I could just about hear the mother of this girl saying “come pick up your own damn dog!”. Which is what I did – extracting the sleeping baby from his warm bed, stuffing him in a coat and hat, pulling on my boots, a jacket, and praying I wouldn’t have an accident in my pants as I drive to pick up the Harry Houdini dog that lives in my house. When I arrived I was relieved that I didn’t make the girl bring him home because she was a lot younger than her voice (11 or 12). No one that age should walk through an unfamiliar neighborhood to return a leash-less dog she found.
When my husband got home I went back to bed and within the hour, I was on and off the toilet for the next 6+ hours. Again, I’ll spare the details – but just let me say this: at times, I had no idea if I was urinating or defecating but more than likely both. In between all that, I drank more water, Gatorade, and the other 10 ounces of the liquid laxative/lemony/ battery acid concoction and per the instructions took a few more laxative tablets to make extra sure I was clean.
In the waiting room of hospital the next day, I laid my head on my husband's arm – I was weak and tired and my head seem impossibly heavy. The nurse led me into the area appropriated named “Endoscopy”. I put on the standard-issued hospital gown and bathrobe and the nurse asked me a dozen health questions. Her first attempt to put the IV needle in my hand failed – as proof by her display of the bent needle, so she gave up and after taping a cotton ball to my bleeding and bruised hand and giving me some ice, her partner stuck a needle into my other hand.
I was wheeled into another room where I met the doctor who explained the process and procedure. Pointing out the computer monitor where I can watch the whole thing in living color! They rolled me on my left side, I pulled my knees up to my chest, exposing my back side and they asked me how sleepy I wanted to be. I said I was ready for a nap and they injected the sedative. Instantly I felt dizzy and closed my eyes and didn’t open them until I felt a blunt object trying to scratch its way out of the inside of my lower abdomen and I moaned “OHMYGOD”. I guess I was warned about this. Apparently the lower part of the colon is curved and the “scope” has some uncomfortable turns to make to get where it needs to be. The nurse held my hand and talked me off the ledge. Once the probe was in further and the searing pain subsided, my eyes stayed open long enough to catch a glimpse of the inner sanctum of my colon. It was nothing spectacular or riveting so I went back to my sleepy place.
When it was over I was wheeled back to the recovery area and left alone to sleep. Eventually a nurse came in to check on me and explained that as soon as I “pass the air”, she could discharge me. The colon is like a flat tire when not in use so they pump in air to inflate it during the procedure. I had no idea how hard it would be for my body to do this (pass air). It doesn’t seem to have much trouble when I don’t need it to. The nurse suggested a few different positions to help me get this done but they didn’t work. After a while, I managed a walk to the bathroom and passed a small bit of air, but it didn’t make me feel better as the nurse promised. Being upright and even sitting made me nauseous and when the doctor came in he said I looked a little green and ordered some anti-nausea medicine, which worked immediately. I also ate some ice chips and quietly “passed air” again. I finally got dressed and discharged. My husband went to get the car and the nurse walked me out as I clutched the printed report of the procedure, complete with full color pictures of my perfectly clean, cancer-free colon.
At home, I went directly to bed and later my husband brought food – the best peanut butter toast I have ever eaten in my entire life. The next day I had no lingering effects. And no, my behind does not hurt as a few have asked. Although the gas pains were still with me the next morning, eventually they subsided and it’s all just a distant, faded memory. One I am destined to repeat in 5 years.
